Fire In The Mind: Leonard Wise Book 1

by Arjay Lewis

  “Traffic accidents are the leading cause of death with older drivers,” she said just above a whisper. It sounded like something she had been coached to say.

  “There is no statute of limitations on murder, Mrs. Hoefler, and I’m looking into your parents’ death. If I find there’s a good reason to bring it to the District Attorney…”

  “You don’t understand,” Janice Hoefler said, tears forming in her eyes.

  McGee knelt at her chair, and his voice got low. “Look, Mrs. Hoefler, these people killed your sister, they burned her alive. I can’t catch them if I don’t know how your sister was mixed up in all of this.”

  “I shouldn’t say anything until Jack gets back.”

  “Mrs. Hoefler?” I said, which got her to turn to me and make eye contact. I gently reached out with my mind, not to force my way, as I did with her husband, but to gently reassure her. “I’m sure there was a good reason for what happened to your parents.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and she reached into her bag. Pulling out a tissue, she dabbed her face with it.

  McGee glanced at the door. He’d obviously gotten Galland to keep Hoefler busy, but our time was rapidly running out.

  “Our—fa-fa-father,” she said. “He m-m-messed with us when we were kids.”

  McGee’s voice went quiet. “Messed with you?”

  “B-b-both of us. First Wendy, then me, later on. It was horrible—he was a m-m-monster,” she said, and her body began to shake all over. I gently took her free hand and held it. She looked at me.

  “It’s all right,” I said quietly as I perceived images of dark rooms where fear and pain were commonplace.

  “Wendy wanted him dead and my m-m-mother, too. She l-l-let it happen—must have known…”

  “But you didn’t want to hurt anyone,” I said.

  “No, I wanted to avoid them. Wendy got me out of that house, helped me get on my own. We had so little money. Then I met J-Jack, and he was so strong,” she said, looking to the door to see if her knight returned.

  “So, Wendy got a job working for Nova,” I said.

  “She said she met someone and said that she could take care of our f-f-father so he’d never hurt us again. And we’d have money, lots of money,” she said and gazed at the door again. Her attitude changed, and she became angry. “I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted that b-b-bastard to suffer!”

  This caused a complete breakdown of her emotional barriers, and she began to cry in earnest into the tissue, which she rapidly tore to shreds.

  There was a knock at the door, and McGee walked over and unlocked it. Jack Hoefler came into the room with Galland beside him, a looming shadow.

  “Wait outside,” McGee said, and Galland nodded as the door closed.

  Jack Hoefler looked very rumpled at this point. He’d apparently been on the go since the morning, and this was just one more thing. He looked at his crying wife. “What did you tell them?”

  “I TOLD THEM THE TRUTH!” she yelled at her husband, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Janice,” he hissed. “You should wait for the lawyer.”

  “I SHOULD! I SHOULD!” she yelled and stood. Tears smeared her mascara, which came down her face in two lines. “You always tell me what I should do, and I should do it this way, or that way. I don’t have to do what you tell me.”

  She sat down and began to cry again while she pulled another tissue from her purse.

  Color rose on Hoefler’s cheeks, but his voice stayed calm. “You should know that anything she has said without an attorney will not be admissible in court.”

  “She has said enough,” McGee went on boldly, “to indict you as a co-conspirator in the murder of your in-laws.”

  Hoefler’s eyes grew wide. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “OK, so prove it,” McGee said, his arms folded.

  “It was Wendy’s idea,” Janice Hoefler said.

  “Janice,” Jack Hoefler hissed. “Hush!”

  “Counselor,” McGee said. “If you are involved in conspiracy to commit murder, you must know that we can prosecute you under the RICO statutes.”

  “It was all Wendy,” Hoefler spat bitterly. “Tell him, Janice.”

  Janice raised her head, much calmer. “We’d been going to counseling because of—intimacy problems. That’s how Jack knew about—about—” She began to cry again.

  “I wanted to confront the old bastard,” Hoefler said. “Bring him up on charges. But Wendy, she came to me with this plan. She had us fill out these papers, insurance forms on them.”

  “How did you get them to sign?” Bill said, his eyes going from one to the other. “Or did you forge the signatures?”

  “Wendy went to them, acted like it was a misunderstanding,” Janice said, “G-got them to sign.”

  “Wendy was working for Nova by then,” Jack said, exasperated.

  “Is that where she met Jack?” I asked, the image of the black-clad man in my mind.

  “Yeah, they were an item. I never met the guy, though. Wendy said he wasn’t sociable,” Hoefler said. “Look, I’m telling you, Wendy came to us, told me to invite her parents for dinner, and she’d take care of the rest.”

  “So, as the police report stated, they came to your house for dinner,” McGee said.

  “It was h-h-horrible,” Janice said. “That m-man eating at m-my table.” This began a fresh round of tears from her.

  “Wendy gave Janice something,” Hoefler explained. “I don’t know what—Valium, I guess. So Janice was real calm and quiet during the dinner. But you should’ve seen Wendy. She was carrying on like it was a family reunion. She laughed and acted real friendly. Then after dinner, she pulls her cell phone out of her purse and makes a call as the parents pull out of the driveway. Says what they’re driving and asks whoever is on the other end if he’s in the right place and all. Then she hangs up and says, ‘It’s all set.’”

  “She had him killed!” Janice said and raised her head again, an odd expression of mixed grief and joy on her face. “Just like that!”

  “But we don’t know how it was done, and we had nothing to do with any of it,” Jack Hoefler said as if it were a sound defense.

  “But you benefitted from the insurance payout,” McGee said, as a knock came at the door. In two strides, Bill went to the door and opened it a crack. Galland stuck his head in and whispered something that made Bill nod.

  “Show him back,” McGee said before turning and facing the room. “Your lawyer is here, Mr. Hoefler.”

  “Are you arresting us?” Hoefler demanded. “Because none of this will hold up in court.”

  “No, but I will be letting the insurance company know, and they may press charges for fraud.”

  “You won’t get anywhere without evidence, and there is none,” Hoefler snorted.

  I turned to Mrs. Hoefler as McGee and Jack Hoefler stared daggers at each other. “Will you be all right, Mrs. Hoefler?”

  She had been quiet for a while and appeared to compose herself. She blew her nose and nodded.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m just glad it’s finally out in the open.” Then she turned to face me. “Do you think what happened to Wendy—that she was being punished for what she—we—did to our parents?”

  I shook my head. But once again, I was stunned that the Wendy I’d known was just an illusion. She had been very cold-blooded in using her Jack to kill her father and stepmother and make money at the same time. What kind of woman could put into action a premeditated plan to kill so callously?

  “Her mistake was getting involved with Jack,” I said, and met Janice’s eyes. I tried to send her energy, send her love. She was a fragile soul who had been through far too much for her early twenties. The room began to fade, and only her eyes were there.

  I could sense her, the real person hidden deep within her own mind, c
overed in layers of fear. “Can you tell us anything about Jack that might help?”

  Her eyes were fixed on mine, and her voice possessed a dreamy quality. “I never met him, but she said he had a place in Mountainview.”

  “A place?” I said as I leaned closer. There was nothing but her eyes.

  “Wendy said that the view was spectacular. You could see the entire city,” she said, and I could feel her pull a bit back as confusion clouded her face. “What’s happening? I feel strange.”

  I was not sure what was going on in the room anymore. I could hear Bill arguing with Jack Hoefler, but their voices were a million miles away. All that existed was her eyes and the beautiful soul I could sense behind them.

  Shh! I said, or rather, merely thought. Our eyes were locked, and there was more between us than words could offer. I want you to know you don’t have to be afraid.

  I’m scared all the time, she thought back to me.

  Let it go. You have more courage than anyone I know.

  Her expression changed as the truth of this became clear to her in a moment of epiphany.

  The door burst open, and a short man in a bad suit walked in carrying a briefcase, which broke our eye contact. The room grew in brightness around us, and I was aware of my surroundings again.

  “This interview is over!” he announced as if he made a guest appearance on a television show.

  “Yes, it is,” said McGee. “And I would advise your clients to stay available.”

  “They are not to be seen without me present. Mrs. Hoefler is under psychiatric care!”

  “Oh, shut up, Barry,” Janice Hoefler said as she stood. Suddenly the weak, nervous woman was gone, replaced by someone new, and both Jack Hoefler and lawyer Barry gaped at her, openmouthed. She responded to their stares with, “You don’t have to gawk, Jack.”

  Jack closed his mouth. “Janice,” he said, a warning tone in his voice.

  “And don’t start with that tone, Jack,” Janice insisted. “I’ve never liked it.”

  She turned to McGee. “Detective, I will be available to help, and I will testify. I don’t need my lawyer. I want you to catch the man who killed my sister.”

  “I want that as well, ma’am,” McGee said, his eyebrows raised. He gave a quick glance to me, and I shrugged.

  “Very good,” she said and picked up her purse. “Now, Jack, take me home.”

  “O-of course,” he said as he exchanged a glance with Barry, who stared back.

  She turned to face me. “I’m so very glad to have met you, Doctor—Wise, was it?”

  “That’s correct, Mrs. Hoefler.”

  “Janice, please,” she said, a smile growing on her face. “I feel energized, better than I have in a long time,” she added, walking to the door, where Jack waited for her.

  “Are you OK?” Jack said, unsure who this woman was.

  “Better than I have been in years, Jack. We need to make some changes…”

  “We can discuss it at home,” Jack said in a loud whisper.

  “And believe me, we will,” she replied. “Good night, Detective, Doctor.” With that, she swept out of the room, Jack and Barry in close pursuit as Galland took up the rear. I leaned back in my chair, so exhausted I could’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

  “What the hell was that?” McGee asked as he nudged my arm. “OK, Svengali, what did you do?”

  “What makes you think I did anything, Bill?” I said, opening my eyes to look at my large friend.

  “She comes in here Mrs. Mousey and leaves as Wonder Woman! I saw the two of you in that staring contest, and kept Hoefler busy, but what the hell did you do?”

  “Nothing really, Bill. She was always that strong, she was just afraid. But deep inside, under the fear of her husband and father, there was someone who wanted to take control of her life. I just helped her let that person out.”

  “Len, you aren’t a psychic, you’re a goddamn miracle worker. What do you do next, raise the dead?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “I’d be happy just to raise myself up from this chair. Bill, I’m all in, can you give me a ride home?”

  “Sure, no problem. Did you get anything—you know—your special way?”

  “Wendy told Janice that Jack lived in a building where he had a great view of the city. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Jack Hallman’s office is on the fourth floor of a building downtown—but I don’t think he can see the whole city.”

  “Do you have enough to make an arrest?” I asked.

  “For what, innuendo? Mrs. Hoefler’s testimony will help, but it’s not proof that he’s the firebug. We have the name Jack, and the rest is hearsay. I need more, Len, if I want to get the DA to issue a warrant to search his office. Also, if your theory is right, he can fricassee anyone who shows up. We need an airtight case, and probably a SWAT team. I’ll go over these files we got from Norris and try to find grounds for an indictment.”

  Even as tired as I was, I said, “I want to be in on the takedown, Bill.”

  “The takedown? Look at you!”

  “I’m serious, Bill. I believe I can neutralize his ability—though maybe only a little. If I’m there, you might have a better chance.”

  “I’ll just have to make sure Tice isn’t around,” McGee said. “He’s still looking at you as a suspect.”

  “I don’t think he would accept our pyrokinesis theory.”

  “I’m having trouble accepting it myself, and I’m much more open-minded,” McGee said while he gathered the files and slipped them under his arm. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  . . .

  Fifteen minutes later, I was unlocking the door at the Baines’s house. It was only after eight, but all I wanted to do was sleep.

  “Jenn?” I heard Jon say as he came out to the foyer.

  “Just me, Jon. Isn’t Jenny home?”

  “No, she had to meet a client, seemed very annoyed about it, last minute and everything.”

  “Oh? Isn’t that unusual?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Back in her early days with the company, she always had to go look at busted cars and damaged houses. Now she only goes out when it’s a large estate or settlement.”

  “But it does happen?” I asked as a feeling of uneasiness hit my gut.

  “Yeah. It’s rare, but she does it occasionally,” Jon said as he walked with me to the kitchen. “Jeez, what happened to your jacket?”

  I remembered the burns and shrugged. “I had a day.”

  “You look like hell. You want something to eat?”

  “No, I’ll just turn in,” I said as waves of exhaustion replaced my fear. I headed toward my room.

  “Good night, Len,” he said, and returned to the living room.

  I sat down on the bed, feeling like an old man, and undressed, examining the burns and holes in my jacket. It was indeed ruined. I threw it into the small trash can in the room, which it overflowed. The shirt was also a fright, and it quickly followed. I went into the bathroom and took a hot shower, washing the smell of smoke and burned hair out of my pores.

  I put on my one pair of pajamas—in case I was awakened by Jenn. I didn’t want to be caught again in the altogether. I slipped between the sheets and very quickly, I was dozing.

  My mind, however, still operated on higher levels.

  I floated in a warm darkness, but I heard voices. They seemed far away, and as I focused on the sound, a bar materialized around me. Not a noisy one, just a relaxed place. It appeared to be part of a hotel.

  There was a circular bar of polished wood, and a bearded bartender stood dutifully behind it. There were tables set throughout the room with two and three chairs, backed with Day-Glo green vinyl, which seemed a glaring mistake near the good wood of the bar.

  Pictures hung on the wall, reproductions—
not good ones—of famous works of art. Birth of Venus, the Mona Lisa, a couple of Botticelli’s, a Monet. Between the bright chairs and the faux art, the room had the atmosphere of an aging bordello.

  I was in a position to watch the room clearly, but my perspective was from the corner of the room, as if I floated there, able to watch the comings and goings of people as they moved in and out the door.

  What an odd dream, I thought to myself.

  There was a woman seated at one of the tables who watched the door. She looked familiar, and yet strange at the same time. She wore a pantsuit with an open collar and a frilly shirt. She was wearing makeup and I couldn’t quite place her. She rose and waved a hand in the air to attract someone who walked in the door.

  The person who approached was Jenny Baines.

  All at once, I floated near the table to watch the scene from close range.

  Jenny shook hands with the woman and sat down. She called her a name, Kate or Katy. Their voices were muffled, as if they spoke from faraway. I tried to focus on what they said and caught only a few words here and there.

  They ordered drinks, and a young man, tall and thin, who looked as if his waiter uniform was made for a much larger man, dutifully wrote on a pad, then went to fetch their drinks.

  Everything seemed to happen so quickly, and I still couldn’t place the face of the woman. Her features weren’t gentle, though the powder and rouge softened the jawline. She wasn’t thin, and my mind raced over the last few days to try to recall where I had seen her.

  The drinks arrived at their table, a glass of wine for the woman, and a ginger ale for Jenny, who stirred it to remove some of the fizz. The woman held her glass firmly, almost in a mannish way. That’s when it hit me.

  Denise Haskell.

  Wearing a wig with longer hair, all dolled up and looking quite nice in her pantsuit, she appeared far different than in the man’s black suit she wore at the funeral or the white shirt and apron she’d had on in the coffee bar—but it was her.

  Why was she meeting with Jenny?